A/N: This is the first in a series of one-shots that will include some moments between Finola and the people in her life. While trying to break through some writer's block, I thought it would be nice to have some back-story showing events that brought Bran and Finola closer together, as well as moments between Finola and Sebastian that complicated their relationship. This one is set after her mother's death. It always made me crazy that several of Hawke's friends came to speak to her about her mabari, but when her mother died, only one came to the house.
As always, I thank my dear friend and fellow author, Biff McLaughlin, for working her beta magic. *hugs* Any typos are my fault for messing with the text.
Please feel free to comment, and even offer up ideas for one-shots of any rating. I love hearing your thoughts!
Release from the Chains: Missing Links
Firsts
Bran stood on the balcony overlooking the Keep's main entry hall, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression staid.
Distraction. Finola was a complete and utter distraction. He couldn't stop thinking about last evening when they sat together on a couch in front of the hearth in her home, often in uncomfortable silence.
Finola's mother had been murdered the day before, her body parts used to create a living corpse for a deranged blood mage's fantasy. Bran had stood in front of the door to her home wondering what he could say to her to ease her grief. For a split second, he had thought to flee the scene and forget about the sympathetic gesture he had in mind. But he had wanted to see her, comfort her if he could, use his talent for conversation in some way other than political maneuvering. He had willed his hand to come up and lift the doorknocker all the way up, letting it fall with a loud metallic thud.
Bodahn stood behind the door as it opened, his face haggard and saddened. What Bran didn't know then was how this evening would change everything he had ever thought about his future.
"Good evening, Seneschal Bran. I'm not sure if Messere Hawke is accepting visitors tonight." The dwarf pulled on the door allowing just enough room for Bran to slip in. "Please wait here a moment."
Bodahn walked towards the main room and spoke with unusual quiet. "It's Seneschal Bran, messere. Shall I tell him you are indisposed?"
Bran craned his neck to catch a glimpse of her and saw a flash of golden hair as she rose from the couch. He felt a bead of sweat fall from his brow and quickly brushed it away, forcing his demeanor to calm as he was accustomed to doing every day at the Viscount's Keep.
"No. Send him in, Bodahn," he heard her say in a weary voice, and his heart broke a little.
Bodahn waved him in and he looked at Finola as she walked towards the hearth and stared into the flames. She sighed and turned to see him, her lips firm and straight. "Seneschal, is there an emergency at the Keep? I can't imagine any other reason you'd come to my home at this hour."
Bran cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to intrude. I've only come to offer my sympathy."
"Oh?" She gave him an appraising look. "Well… thank you. That is most appreciated, and quite unexpected, to be honest." In the awkward silence, she moved to stand near the couch and motioned for him to sit with her. "Please, have a seat."
Against his better judgment, he did just that. Finola's skin looked so pale, and it always reddened when she was upset, as it was now. He was unable to tear his eyes away from her face, her beautiful, tear-stained face so stricken with sorrow that it pained his heart to see her, but still, he couldn't look away. "I'll sit for a few minutes."
Watching her hair cascade past her shoulders as she settled on the couch, his heart clenched with involuntary desire. He silently chastised himself for being so selfish as to see her that way when her mother's death had her suffering so. In a second of panic, he cursed himself for giving in to this silly whim, this lame attempt to offer his condolences. Surely, she had her friends, which he did not count himself one of, for support and comfort. None of them was there at present though, and it was too late to retreat, so he made an effort to carry on with his plan in hopes he would be able to imprint a memorable moment on his mind.
With the firelight glow on her cheeks, she looked rather lovely, even though her eyes were puffy and red rimmed. He had never seen her without armor on, or with her hair so tousled and not in her usual tight bun. She wore an ordinary pale blue shirt and casual pants, which were both quite wrinkled he noted, clothes the likes a man would wear. He wondered if perhaps the clothing she wore was his, that righteous brother from the Chantry who wasn't man enough to admit his love for her and leave his vows behind. Damn fool.
"Where are my manners?" she said. "Would you like a drink? Brandy or whiskey… water?"
"No, thank you," was all he managed to say.
She shrugged and pointed at the small box he was clutching, forgotten with the nervous emotion that was flowing through his body. "What is that in your hand?"
"Oh, this... Just a small token. I," he hesitated a moment before continuing. "I thought flowers would be inappropriate given the circumstances."
Her brows narrowed for a moment, surprised by his thoughtfulness. "Everyone sent flowers. Some even sent white lilies. Can you believe that?" Bran could only offer a stunned expression as he shook his head. "Idiots. I had Bodahn and Sandal take every single stem to the Chantry... as a donation."
"I'm sure that was looked upon as very generous," he said calmly, battling the urge to shout obscenities and ask for the names of those heartless wretches.
"I don't really care how it was looked upon," she muttered. "So, that box…?" She reached for the small package as he held it out, almost childlike in her curiosity. His fingers brushed against hers in the exchange, and the flutter he felt in his stomach rose up to his throat, scratchy and sharp. He pulled out a handkerchief and coughed into it once. The lid on the box slid upwards as she pulled, revealing a small ball of chocolate candy covered with nuts.
"As I recall, this particular confection can be very soothing to the nerves," he explained. "It's called a truffle. I discovered them on a trip to Orlais several years back. Then I heard of a woman who sold them in the marketplace. She had fled Denerim during the Blight and came to Kirkwall to sell her confections," he prattled.
Was she smiling at his nervous chatter, or just being polite? He decided it didn't matter. The small smile she wore was infectious and his lips quirked into a grin as she looked up at him.
"It looks delicious. I don't even care if it's good for my nerves," she said eagerly. "I know my taste buds are going to sing." She looked up at him suspiciously. "Did you know I love chocolate, or was this just a good guess?"
"I'm paid to know your likes and dislikes, Serah Hawke," he said casually, but realized too late that it sounded terribly condescending. "That is to say I've heard you have a tremendous sweet tooth." His attempt to lessen the curtness of his first statement wasn't much better.
"Oh," she said softly, disappointed, hurt even, but that didn't stop the immediate flash of anger in her eyes. "So this is a politically correct visit, and not a personal one. I should have known," she snapped, pinning him with a steely glare.
"Oh no, no! I didn't come here under obligation. I came here to see you of my own accord." His words rushed out quicker than he intended, and he suddenly felt like a youth apologizing to his first sweetheart for some childish faux pas. He threw his shoulders back and raised his chin. "I apologize if that remark seemed… boorish or patronizing."
She kept her eyes on him and they softened under his attentive gaze. He made sure it was obvious to see that he was, in fact, sincere.
"No need to apologize. I… misjudged you." Then she proceeded to reexamine the truffle, delicately taking it out of the box and admiring its form. She brought the candy to her pink lips and bit a small piece off, savoring the flavor on her tongue with her eyes closed. "Mmm, this is wonderful," she said softly.
In his head, he pictured her melting in his arms as he kissed her passionately, and whispering his name as he brought her closer to nibble on her ear.
"Oh Maker, chocolate really is my one true love."
Bran couldn't help staring at her, fixating his every thought on her. No other woman had affected him the way she did. As far as he was concerned, there wasn't a woman in Kirkwall who could match her beauty, her intelligence, her charm. His keen intuition knew she had rarely allowed anyone to see what she was truly made of, but he saw it. And there were no words to adequately describe what exactly it was that he saw in her beyond her outward appearance. But Maker, he wanted Finola all to himself.
That was the moment Bran realized that he loved Finola; the same moment she professed her love for chocolate. How ridiculous.
This infuriating woman had gotten under his skin like a splinter and needled her way into his heart, and he was unable to stop spiraling head-over-heels in love with her, wholly in need of her presence, her voice, her… everything. They hadn't shared so much as a kiss or a hug, hardly any contact but for a handshake or shoulder brush, but Finola had consumed all his thoughts and desires.
Her lips turned up when her eyes opened and Bran was wearing the warmest expression, beyond happy to see her smile finally reaching her eyes.
"Would you like some?" She held the truffle near his mouth, but he shook his head, declining in forced silence. He couldn't allow the words in his head to tumble from his lips, not yet anyway.
"It's so good. You don't know what you're missing," she tempted.
"It's only for you," he said in a low voice. I could give you everything….
Tucking some stray hairs behind her ear, she smiled at him. "Thank you, Seneschal. It was kind of you to think of me." Then she frowned as her shoulders slumped. "You know, you're the only person who's come to visit me since yesterday afternoon when Sebastian and Varric brought me home. So much for friendship, huh?"
"These situations are often awkward." As he rubbed is chin in thought, it occurred to him that she was still young and inexperienced, probably somewhat unaware of how selfish people could be when faced with the possibility of having to console someone in their hour of need, friend or not. Bran shifted into the mode he knew best - adviser. "I wouldn't hold it against them. I'm sure they don't know how to respond to your mourning. Maybe they haven't any experience with tragedies of this sort. "
"But you have, haven't you? Your wife died quite a few years ago now," she said thoughtfully. "Tell me, Seneschal, will this pain ever dull? Will I ever feel less… guilty?"
"Guilty?" His face softened, concern written across his brow. "How so?"
"The flowers, the late nights… she never could get him to visit here. I should have known, should have sensed his powers over her. If I'd insisted on meeting him…."
"Serah Hawke, she was a grown woman. She was your mother, yes, but still a responsible, intelligent woman duped by a clever and deranged blood mage. There was no way of knowing what he'd do."
"Easy to say, not so easy to live with," she managed weakly. Her eyes started to fill with tears, and he could see her posture tense as she tried to control her emotion.
Her gaze was almost hypnotizing him and he couldn't look away, he wouldn't look away. "If you had met him and realized his powers, you'd be dead right now. There's no question he would have eliminated you first."
"My life for hers would have been worth it. Instead, my mother died, like my brother, my father, even my sister may as well have died in the Deep Roads due to my recklessness. All the failures I have to live with…."
"No. Those events were all circumstance, chance, fate, and we have no control over such things. Their lives were not in your hands. I know you understand this intellectually."
"It's in the Maker's hands, right?" She gave a short laugh.
"Absolutely. You mustn't hold on to any guilt. It'll eat away at you until there's nothing but… hatred and bitterness." His heart ached, longing to hold her, to smooth her hair and rock her like a hurt child. But then the fury boiled within him at her isolation and loneliness. "And where is Vael now? Has he not helped you with his particular brand of pious comfort?"
"He said he'd offer a memorial at the Chantry." Sighing, she looked at him, smoothing out her expression, and then shrugged and looked away. "It was a nice gesture."
"A nice gesture," he repeated flatly. "He should be here. He should be comforting you, listening to you, holding you." As the words spilled out, he saw that Finola wasn't sure how to respond to his sudden interest in her love life, or lack thereof. …new topic. He was just about to point at a painting when she spoke.
"Maybe I've said too much," she said uncomfortably. "I know you don't see eye to eye with Sebastian, but he is an honest and moral man. He means well." She gazed into Bran's eyes as he struggled to maintain composure.
"As do I," he said sincerely. Nobles, Viscounts, even royalty didn't give him butterflies in his stomach the way she did. Maker, why does she affect me so?
"I know you do, Seneschal. Was no one there for you either… when your wife died, that is?"
Bran sadly remembered the last woman he loved, and grimaced at the memory. Please, no. I cannot have that conversation right now. "We're not discussing my past," he said waving her off. "But Vael should know how alone you are tonight, how you needed a shoulder to lean on."
"But I'm not alone, am I?" she said, her voice gentle and thankful as she reached out to touch his knee. "You're here and that means a great deal to me, even if you felt it was your duty to check on me." Something softened in her expression as she lightly traced a finger over his kneecap.
Bran stiffened at her touch, but instantly hungered for more when she moved her hand back to rest on her lap. He sighed and looked into her eyes, eyes he could easily drown in if he wasn't careful. "I've already said it was not my duty to come here. I simply understand what you are feeling. The pain will lessen in time, the ache will subside, and fond memories will replace it."
"Why am I telling you all this anyway?" She shook her head. "I've just said things to you I never dreamt I'd say to anyone. Why is that, you think?"
"I just happened to be the person here when you needed to talk. Or maybe… we are more alike than you'd care to admit." He smiled and wondered what she thought about that.
"Hm." Her expression went blank. Was she fascinated by that thought or utterly horrified? "You may be right, Seneschal."
Ah. And now we have something in common. "If I may offer some advice…?" he asked hesitantly.
"Of course."
"Sit in your mother's room, look at her things, hold them close and reminisce. Let yourself feel and do not run from the sorrow. Embrace it, and conquer it."
"Solid advice, no doubt. But," she paused, shifting closer to him. "I'm afraid to, afraid I'll… lose control, and…."
"And what? Throw a glass? Destroy a painting? You can do that if you want. I'll even help."
She smiled at his attempt to lighten the mood. "We'd probably end up tossing books at each other by the end of the night," she joked.
"Maybe I should leave you to it then," he said as she looked into the hearth.
"I know you and I have been adversaries on various occasions, but can you… stay a while longer? Maybe… talk with me for a few minutes more?"
"Yes… Certainly." I'd stay all night if you'd ask me to.
"If only people could see you now, Seneschal. You get a lot of unjustified criticisms, you know that? I think you're a good egg, Bran Wyndham."
"Maker, please. Don't ever say that in mixed company!" He gave her a sideways glance, accompanied by a wry smile. "I have a reputation to uphold."
"Seneschal… Bran, I like this side of you. Pity you don't show it more often. I imagine there is a lucky woman who gets to enjoy your humorous insights and caring qualities."
That she'd said this knowing his reputation at the Blooming Rose, floored him. She had to know he was unattached; the stories of his escapades with women were well recited in the circles she travelled in. She was being considerate of him, trying to save him any discomfiture, and that was very encouraging, although still embarrassing.
"I'm not involved with any one particular woman at the moment. I've no time for such folly anyway," he said flippantly. "Late nights, having dinners and holding hands… bah. That's for younger, more foolish men."
"You're making excuses now," she chided with a grin. "You made the time to be here with me, right? You know, there are several eligible and well-bred ladies I can think of who would absolutely adore the chance to prance around on your arm."
"Thank you, but no." Finola was treading on dangerous ground, only she didn't know it. There was only one woman he wanted, and that woman had her sights on Sebastian Vael. How could he compete with a future Prince? Too soon, his emotions were clouding his judgment too soon. He needed time to think, to form a plan. He had to put an end to the direction the conversation was heading in before he said something he would regret for the rest of his life. "Why are you prying into my personal life? I'm sure there are other, more suitable types in need of your match-making skills."
"Oh, forgive me. I only wanted to help," she said as she looked away, frustration evident in her voice.
Too harsh, he thought. He reached out and touched her arm lightly and her eyes met his. "I didn't mean to seem unappreciative. I'm a private man, Serah Hawke. I usually don't discuss things of this nature with…."
"With who? Associates? Are we not friends as well?" she asked, eyebrows raised. "I thought we were."
"I suppose we are… now." He watched as she picked at a hangnail. Now it was his turn to feel guilty. "But I'd still prefer to stay off the topic, if you don't mind."
"Of course. So," she said in a high pitch. "How is the Qunari situation looking? I think the Arishok isn't far from lashing out."
He nodded once. "I agree with you."
"If the Viscount's office needs any help in dealing with him, let me know," she said as she straightened her back. "The Arishok seems to respect me for some reason. Maybe I can help."
"Time will tell, but… thank you for your offer of aid. I will mention it to His Excellency." The urge to leap from the couch and run out the door was overwhelming Bran. Any more time spent with her could lead to the end of their now harmonious relationship. "It's getting late. I should go home for the evening. I need to be at the Keep just after dawn."
"Yes, yes, it is late. I'll show you out."
"That is not necessary, Serah Hawke."
"Would you please call me Finola already, or even Fin. Anything but a damnable title."
The strength he heard in her voice was heartening, and he decided he would make a toast to himself and his efforts when he arrived at his home later. He tipped his head and looked at her for a long moment.
"As you wish… Finola." Hearing his own voice say her name was somehow encouraging, exciting. He had known her for a few years already, but had never once used her given name. A night of firsts, he thought.
"And don't argue with me anymore. I'm walking you to the door and that's final." She stood from the couch and motioned for him to do the same.
He smiled. "Stubborn aren't you?"
"You have no idea," she laughed.
When they reached the door, she paused before opening it and stood in front of him. She seemed peaceful now, and grateful for his company. He could read it in her gaze, and it robbed him of his breath.
"Even under the circumstances, I've enjoyed talking with you, Bran. You have helped me more than you know." Before he could react, she threw her arms around him and hugged him fiercely. "Thank you," she whispered into his ear, and a shiver went straight down to his toes. To be so close to her, to smell her intoxicating rosy scent was almost too much and he had to pull away before he was entirely lost in her arms. As their heads moved away from each other, he caught her gaze, and they both froze, captured in the moment. He saw a spark of… something, but whether it was appreciation or desire, he wasn't sure.
"Well," she said softly as she averted her eyes to the floor and worried her lip, "I'll, um… wait to hear about speaking with the Arishok then."
And there it was, a little nervous tick indicating there was more to her look than gratitude.
He stepped over the threshold and stood outside the door grinning. "Good night, Finola."
"Good night, Bran," she whispered.
He nodded and smiled as she closed the door, and then whistled a happy tune all the way to his front door.
Earlier in the morning, Bran had suggested to Viscount Dumar that Finola Hawke assist with the Qunari situation. Dumar had agreed and a messenger was sent to Finola's house requesting her presence at the Keep immediately.
Waiting patiently on the balcony, Bran kept his eyes on the Keep's large wooden doors expecting to see her stroll in at any moment, hopefully without her companions. The previous night had gone as well as could be expected, actually, better than he imagined it would; the realization that he was in love with her hit him like a bolt from out of the blue.
He would speak with her after the meeting, as usual, but this time he would not vehemently deny wanting her involvement. In fact, he'd be more than happy to discuss every single detail he could come up with. And then some.
He stared down at the marbled floor and in his mind's eye, he was dancing the Remigold and holding Finola tightly in his arms as they sailed across the floor. Breaking his fantasy all too soon, the large doors swung open and Finola stepped inside, alone, and she instinctively glanced up to Bran's usual post. She waved happily to him and picked up her pace, bounding up the stairs. He watched her as she approached him, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Fancy seeing you again so soon, Bran."
Her smile melted away the winter's cold that had settled in his bones. "Good morning, Finola. You look… healthier today."
"An interesting compliment," she smirked, and then leaned in to whisper to him. "I did as you suggested last night. If I look any better, it's all due to you." She moved back and tipped her head in the direction of the Viscount's office. "Let's get this over with and then we can talk… if you don't mind listening to me go on about my intense emotional experience last night," she said hopefully.
"I'd like that." Bran followed behind her and found it almost impossible not to feel a little giddy inside.
Someday, Finola. Someday we will be together the way it was meant to be. And you will never be lonely again.